Live Wire
by Macx
Summary: sequel to High Voltage. Q is a genius. Q is MI6's youngest quartermaster. Q is a technopath whose ability has been crippled for all his life because he was without an anchor. Now that James Bond has become just that, Q is trying to learn how to use his abilities. It doesn't help that he tends to get side-tracked by shiny things, like Silva's virus program... Firewall series
1. Chapter 1

Rain was beating against the panes, sliding down and obscuring the view. Forecasts had already spoken of a rather nasty week to come and Londoners, used to rain, had simply shrugged and gone about their lives.

Q was one of them.

It had been a typical day at work, which meant overtime and too little sleep, less to eat, and too much on his table.

The weather outside was frightful, the streets seemingly drowning as London hunkered down for the night, out-waiting the thunderstorm.

He had been called into a meeting with M, which had cost him precious hours he could have spent doing what he did best. Nothing was as important as bringing MI6's servers into the twenty-first century, safer, more secure, ready. It had him spent night after night at the underground bunker, overlooking installations, programming and more. Q had been there throughout it all, as had the whole of the IT unit, all of them busy, busy, busy.

And oh yes, their very special Double-Oh, the one he was primary and probably only-ever handler of, had disappeared once more. M had demanded he find their wayward field agent. Q had been calm and professional and not impressed by the order. If Bond wanted to be found, he would be. And last time he had seen him, 007 had been busy getting important information on an arms deal about to go down from a very beautiful hostess.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, lightning followed bright and hot against the black sky. A dark silhouette was illuminated against the window.

Q felt no alarm at the presence of someone inside his flat. Only two people had the access code. If someone would have broken in, there would have been at least one alarm triggered. If someone were to be able to circumvent the alarm, there were motion sensors. If those had been compromised, Q would have received an error message on his smart phone. The programs had been developed by him, in his own code, his own programming language. Aside from maybe another technopath, no one would have been able to crack that code.

The silhouette moved and Q found himself fascinated by the lithe, predatory movements, admiring the sleek lines of a body trained and shaped to kill. The predator closed the distance, the outline familiar, the sense he had of this man complete.

"007."

"Q."

James Bond. His anchor. A preternatural who happened to be a vicious predator, a creature so dark it had nearly consumed itself with each and every resurrection. He was a phoenix and he was a nightmare.

"M's looking for you."

"Fuck M."

He tilted his head, a small smile on his lips. Bond's hair glistened with rain in the meager light of the lamps that made it through the windows. His body gave off heat, but the clothes were damp as well.

"You could have used an umbrella."

"Lost mine."

"Too bad. I was hoping you would set a new record for returning my equipment."

A hand slid around his waist and the agent closed the last distance. "It fulfilled a purpose."

"Well, I hope so."

This close Q could see the glint in the shadowy eyes. Even now the blue was startling, overlaid by darkness and yet so alluringly bright. There was hunger in that gaze. Need. A desire that told him that the mission had been bad.

They had lost contact quite early on, with the hostess as the last sure set of coordinates, and while Q had been able to follow through all kinds of security cameras, wifi networks and cell phones, there had been no sign of Bond after the initial meeting with the hostess.

The preternatural leaned forward, burying his head against Q's neck, lips sliding over smooth skin, blunt teeth biting lightly.

"Please," Bond only said.

That one word said more than anything else. The mission had ended badly. Catastrophically maybe. It had shaken Bond in a way he would never show. That he gave Q such insights spoke of the trust between them, the way Bond turned to him.

Q carded slender fingers into the short, damp strands, had his partner look up, and when he met the hot gaze that threatened to swallow him hole, he smiled.

Lips sought his and he answered the kiss, letting himself fall into the contact. Hands caressed his sides as the kiss grew deeper, more desperate, and Q let Bond take over control, show him where to go. The agent needed this, needed to get something out of his system.

Debrief could wait.

The phoenix rose with a strength that left him breathless, but not defenseless. He fought the powerful predator, guided Bond through the surge of darkness, let him reassure himself that his quartermaster was there, only for him, belonged only to him, but he didn't submit to the force of nature that was James Bond.

He kissed back forcefully, letting the preternatural know this wasn't a conquest, and Bond backed off a little, the blue eyes alight with hunger.

"M wants to see you tomorrow," Q whispered against one ear.

Bond growled something uncomplimentary, already busy getting Q out of his clothes.

The quartermaster smiled, logging off his private network.

And then he enjoyed the welcome home.

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"She's dead."

Q looked at Bond, took in the deeper lines in the usually so composed face. He wasn't unreadable any longer. At least not completely. There was sadness and anger and the pain.

So Lilly was dead. The hostess. The woman who had been their way in, had been Bond's contact and maybe his entertainment for a night. Q was sure his partner had enjoyed himself if there had been an opportunity.

Now she was dead.

Bond's voice was rough, low, almost dead. It wasn't a debriefing. That would have been different. It was just James Bond venting his anger and pain.

Lilly had been shot; executed. Not unlike Severine. She hadn't given them Bond's name or any other information and she was dead.

It hurt. Each death hurt an agent, even a Double-Oh. They were able to kill in cold blood, but Lilly or Severine or others like them hadn't been their victims or targets. They had been sources of information, confidential informants, undercover agents, the like.

Bond had escaped unscathed because of her.

There was nothing Q could do; simply be there and let his partner vent in his own way, in his own time. It was something at least. More than Bond had had in the past.

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Bond was gone when Q woke at five a.m. the next morning. Not like Q had expected anything else. He went through his morning routine, checked his email, found nothing of interest, and went to work.

Bond would find his way to Q branch when he was done. Q was sure of it. He didn't worry and last night had calmed his agent down. The dark energy had dispersed and the ferocious beast was a bit tamer. Not tamed, but easier to handle.

At least for now. Bond was known to be an obstinate agent. It was why Q was his handler and why everyone was glad it was him.

He smiled a little to himself as he went through his open projects.

Q didn't mind at all.

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"_Someone cracked our system."_

- Think on your sins. –

Q was a technopath, which meant he could access machines with his mind. It didn't mean he could simply go out and do whatever he wanted, write code and programs and crack every encryption known to man with a single thought. Actually, it was more painful to use his abilities than to do it manually, like every other human being on this planet.

With Bond, Q had found an anchor, which meant he didn't fall into the screaming abyss he had barely clawed himself out of when M had recruited him. Bond was a lifeline and he kept Q from sliding off into the world wide web, which could be a road of no return. And Q kept the preternatural stable and balanced. It was a give and take relationship with perks.

Good perks.

Fantastic perks.

Q smiled slightly to himself.

But technopathically speaking, Q was still learning how to walk again. He had been a cripple in that regard, with no chance of healing the wounds or removing the terrible scars on his mind. Bond had started the healing process and every single time he entered the MI6 servers and came out with barely a headache was a success.

Little by little he upped the ante.

Q was MI6's quartermaster and as such responsible for outfitting the field agents, running the network, coming up with whatever was needed, and maintaining security.

Silva had shown him just how shoddy security had been when he had started this job. Actually, he had started it just before MI6 had been blown to pieces. It hadn't been Q's first day as quartermaster back then, but it had been a hell of a first quarter of a year as the man in charge. His branch had been one of the last to move underground, in a rush, leaving behind too much to be fully functional, and they had paid for it when Silva had overpowered their system.

Q didn't really think about it that often. Nor did he reflect on his luck that he hadn't been one of the eight unlucky souls who had perished that day. Or later.

There had been too many bodies to count.

So after Silva, and while he was still not able to use his technopathy, Q had already started on updating security. It was a tedious job, interrupted by the most mundane problems, and it was mind-numbing.

MI6 was an intelligence operation. There should have been better protocols in place. It should have been impossible for Silva to hack into the network so easily, but he had. At the time Q had only reacted, had trusted in the set-up his predecessor had used, and he had failed on all fronts. Silva had managed to get in and had wreaked havoc.

So now Q was undoing everything completely, was going back to the basics and reprogramming every line of code, every interface, every outgoing and incoming line. His encryption was faultless. He had developed this himself and only another technopath would be able to crack the code.

But it was tiring work.

It took up a good portion of his time in Q branch and he had too many other responsibilities as well.

After his connection to Bond, after they had finally worked out what they were and how they kept each other sane and, in Bond's case, from falling into the darkness of his preternatural side completely, Q had employed his mind in another way to work in the security system. They were still running with the old one since his own grid was far from complete.

MI6 was still rebuilding itself. The bunker was no longer temporary. It was their new headquarters. Miles and miles upon cable and wires had to be laid out throughout the seemingly endless tunnels. They were still exploring all the corridors and vast, cave-like rooms, some flooded, some so damp it would take months to make them serviceable, and some infested by those rats they had already evicted out of the current core of MI6.

Slowly but surely the secret service was back in working order. Slowly but surely the operations were running more smooth and more like before.

M had given him almost free reign and while Q knew how to delegate and actively did so, none of his underlings knew what he truly was. He delegated the rebuilding, had his men and women everywhere a tunnel or room had been declared safe and ready. They installed cameras, heat and motion sensors, palm readers, retinal scans and even a few more experimental bio signature access points.

Aside from the problems at home, abroad had to be managed, too. Handlers had to be in contact with their agents wherever they or the agents were; satellites needed to be tracked; communication had to be ensured.

Q branch was busy like an ant hill on steroids. Overtime was a given.

So Q delegated. And he ran operations with his primary agent, 007, James Bond. He was always there when the agent was back in contact. His voice was the only one Bond heard. Be it while he was hip-deep in parts, head first in an interface box halfway between the Thames and Buckingham Palace, or having a quick lunch that consisted of take-out and a caffeinated drink.

Q was there.

It was where he was needed.

Q branch was now housed in a much larger room with a lot of storage and testing areas connected to the cavern. Q had claimed one area as his office, surrounded by brick walls and metal, giving him a little privacy when he needed it. Usually he was right in the middle of the hubbub, facing huge screens, eyes tracking data and images and small dots weaving through a complicated network painted on the displays.

The beta test for the new security network was looming on the horizon. Q was proud of his baby and he knew he wouldn't be this far if not for the stabilizing effect of the anchor. Bond didn't have to be physically there for it to work, but when he was, Q worked easier.

He could only compare it to removing the grit from an engine. It ran smoothly and like new, like it had never been this creaking, faltering thing in his head.

When Bond was incommunicado, Q used that time to run system checks. His agent went dark when matters required it and Q wasn't too worried about the lengthy silences.

Sometimes they stretched for days.

A small window on his screen was always open, waiting for 007 to reestablish contact, and he kept running facial recognition software throughout the area Bond had last been seen in, before he had disappeared.

It was something to pass the time and to test how his programs were doing in the field. Bug reports were sent to the techs and programmers and they could work on those.

Q turned to the task of the beta test.

With Bond's latest mission accomplished and his agent back home – wherever he was currently lurking - it was time to get serious.

tbc...


	2. Chapter 2

Q's mind accessed whatever he wanted it to. It always felt strange at first to be right in the middle of a machine so completely. It was like looking at a Heads-Up-Display. All the functions were there for him to see and he could reach out and with thoughts like keystrokes he hacked what he wanted.

The HUD was the interface between the world of the web and himself. It was his nexus, the one point from where he could move into every direction.

It was always there, running in the back of his head, like being wi-fi'd into it all. Q usually kept away from the HUD. He didn't need it all the time and like the years before the anchor he was careful where he stepped. He had only made it to this day because he didn't take risks.

Now he was going through the beta of his own creation. He would bring the system online soon.

He was doing fine and he felt no compulsion to slide along wiring into the complex networks all around him or explore the multitude of technological devices and machines everywhere.

Still, he was tired. And slightly headachy.

Something tickled his senses and he turned inside the virtual interface. Something was there and it gave off signals that were so unlike anything he had felt before in this environment, it was… interesting.

Q moved, shutting the security HUD behind him to keep whatever it was out of there.

He almost laughed when he discovered what it was.

The virus. Silva's little monster. He had isolated it and stored the whole laptop in a separate area to look at the fascinating construction another time. So far, MI6's recovery had been on the top of everyone's list and Q had shoved such pet projects on the back burner.

M would want to know how Silva had truly done it, but so far it was safety first.

Looking at the virus, Q was fascinated. He had never looked at it from a technopathic point of view and he would be mad if he were to attempt to run an analysis technopathically. He wasn't suicidal.

Still, from the outside… It was like looking at a beautifully woven rug. Intricate patterns with silky strings of different colors, together forming a whole. This pattern was moving, ever-changing, but still it made so much sense! He watched it, felt it whisper to him, and when he thought about tracking something particular interesting, his senses seemed to shift naturally to follow this interest.

Coding. There was coding, and program lines, and data clusters. He could touch them and look at them, he could reach out and work with them as if everything was physical.

Q was breathless with what he could see and took a step closer. And another step. It was so easy to leave the HUD and walk along almost invisible lines, carefully picking his path around trip wires and security. Q explored. The hacker program was like a dark cloud hovering above him, a hungry predator ready to strike. One false step in the wrong direction and he would be prey, but he was following an easy to navigate path along the signals.

The closer he got, the more powerful the interferences became.

And then there it was. It was like stepping into a room of light. There was no source for this light; it was just all around him. There was also no door or other opening. He was just there, in the middle of nowhere and yet still somewhere.

Above him the dark cloud boiled, the virus program detecting the intruder, but not yet fully triggered.

"Q."

The only human sound in this world. Calm and cool and dark. He looked around and found another darkness not far away, smooth and silky and promising. A fire burned within the ice, dangerous and volatile and very, very lethal.

Bond?

Q wasn't sure he had spoken the name out loud, but the inky nothingness rippled.

::Bond…::

"Q!"

The strong, ferocious presence was there, inserting itself neatly between Q and the opening access points of the virus. Wings that weren't wings spread, obscuring the electronic world, protective and aggressive in one. Bright blue pinpricks burned within the wings.

Q took a deep, shuddering breath.

And then there was a human touch.

Calloused hands, brushing over his arms.

A physical presence so overpowering it took him out of the interface by just being there.

Sharp claws cradled him gently, pulling him closer.

The darkness roiled around him, closing him off from the tempting whispers of the cyberworld. The touch was everywhere. He looked into the pale blue eyes that were his anchor, the one sight he always saw when things got a little dicey technopathically.

"007," he managed.

A small crinkle of a smile appeared on Bond's lips. "Q."

He was slightly off-kilter and blurry-visioned.

Those lethal fingers brushed over his cheek, then carded into his hair. Gentle. So very gentle. Those hands handled guns, knives and explosives. They were weapons, they had killed, had broken necks.

The touch was real, grounding. It was deeper than skin on skin. It seeped into his very cells and was more than any other human being could give him.

Q started to tremble involuntarily. His body was shaking and he couldn't seem to stop it.

He drew a deep breath.

When had Bond gotten here?

Q almost laughed at that thought. It had been the first on his mind. Not the virus' lure, not the beta test. Not how his agent had found him, but when he had come to his office.

"I'm perfectly fine," he tried for normalcy.

The wintery eyes narrowed.

"I just got a little distracted," Q added almost defensively.

"A little, Q?"

He huffed. "Okay, a little more than I should have. But I'm fine."

Except that the pounding in his head begged to differ. It was right behind his eyes, in synch with his heartbeat.

Bond brushed gentle knuckles over his left temple. The phoenix was an overpowering preternatural, so strong and dark in its nature, so violent and ruthless, but right now it wasn't any of that. Q wanted to lean into the caress, wanted to lean against the strong, hard body.

He fought that notion. He wasn't weak. He wasn't needy!

"You are far from fine," the agent said in a low voice. It was a growl that had the younger man yearn for the touch even more.

Q felt the headache increase as anger coursed through him at his thoughts.

"What did you do, Q?"

"Nothing."

"Q."

He summoned a glare, but Bond wasn't fazed. He simply looked at him, those eyes so intense, they made Q shiver.

"I got side-tracked," he finally growled.

"From what to where?"

Damn the man!

"Beta testing the new security network."

It got Q a raised eyebrow and a 'do go on' look. He glared some more.

"Silva's virus."

Bond's eyes narrowed and Q almost felt the phoenix rise, the dark shadow like a physical being looming over him. They were so close, James' presence was everywhere. The anchor was firmly established.

"What?" he asked.

It was just one word, but low and dangerous and filled with anger.

"I said I was side-tracked by Silva's virus!" Q snapped, the headache fueling his anger. "I wasn't accessing it! I merely looked at it, Bond!"

The wintery eyes were glacial. You could freeze a volcano with that expression. Q met that look with a cool one of his own. He wasn't intimated or terrified. He had never been afraid of this man who knew endless ways of torture and death.

Q wasn't like his underlings or some of the other employees of MI6. He didn't cow from any agent, be it a Double-Oh or anyone else. He was the head of Q branch and as such not easily intimidated. His immediate superior was M; not Tanner, not anyone else. M. And he had gone up against 007's stubbornness even before they had connected on a very different level.

So yes, he knew how to handle those looks. Even with a headache, with feeling not on top of his game, with being a few IQ points short.

"I can do this, Bond," he told the other man firmly. "I just need time to adjust to my abilities again."

"It didn't look like you were."

Q's eyes narrowed. "How can you tell?" he challenged furiously. "You're not a technopath."

"No, just anchoring one," was the even reply. "And you looked like I had to call Medical."

He glared.

Bond looked at him with that firm expression that told him that he wouldn't win this one.

"I wasn't in any danger," Q growled. "It's like back when I first realized what I was." He ran a still shaking – damnit! – hand through his hair. "Back then I was distracted by a simple toaster or a microwave."

"I hate to break it to you, but this is hardly a toaster," Bond said dryly.

"Really, 007?"

"Really," was the dead-pan reply.

"Well, good. I was afraid I was the only one who had noticed," Q hissed.

Bond suddenly stepped back and Q found himself missing the closeness, felt more exposed and vulnerable and the headache was increasing. The cool darkness was there, inserting itself neatly between him and the pain, but it wasn't fully blocking the discomfort.

"You should get some rest, Q."

"I have work to do."

"Q, do it."

"You're not my boss, 007!"

"No, just your anchor. And if that doesn't help, let's call it friends with mutual benefits?"

It was like dousing him in cold water and Q blinked. Good god. "We're not…" he blurted, then stopped himself angrily.

Bond just looked at him with those pale eyes. Expectant. Patient. Waiting.

"We're not that," Q finally said, emotions in upheaval.

"No, we're not," Bond agreed. "So: please?"

The rough words cut through the anger and Q blinked.

Worried. Bond was worried.

Strong fingers curled around one wrist, squeezing a little.

"You are not weak, Q. You are the strongest man I know. Your abilities are there and you can use them, but you can't get lost. Not on my watch."

He blinked again, fighting for words, for composure. The wintery eyes were brilliant, almost glowing, his only fix point when he was inside the network, and now the touch was there, too. Grounding him so completely, the headache was gone.

They were so close and Q panicked for a moment, reaching out to the security system, trying to see if they were being seen.

Bond placed his fingertips against his quartermaster's temple, gentle pressure against his head.

Q stared at him.

He received a half-smile in return. "I'm a quick study when it comes to my handler."

The handler in question drew a shuddering breath. Q was overwhelmed by the emotions rushing through him.

And then Bond pulled back.

The spell was broken.

Bond was gone like a phantom and Q leaned against the wall, confused, the headache coming back with painful little pulses.


	3. Chapter 3

Despite his best intentions Q didn't leave. He was still in Q branch after most of his department had already gone home. A few were pulling overtime and Q himself… had never heard of regular work hours anyway. He was looking through the beta version, his mind firmly within its own realm and not even twitching to touch the network around him.

"You are still here."

The voice startled him, but Q refused to even flinch. He looked up briefly, meeting the pale blue eyes of his partner. Bond really had a talent for appearing noiselessly. Just like he had one for lurking. He was good at lurking.

"Very good observation, 007."

The agent crossed his arms and leaned back, looking casual and amused, and still lethal.

"Anything you need?"

"For you to go home, Q."

He refused to be baited. He wasn't a child and he had been a technopath for a large part of his life. He could handle this; he had handled it in the past and now he had an anchor. It shouldn't be this difficult.

A gun, a radio and a pair of glasses landed on his table. Like an offering.

When had Bond moved?

Q knew he was losing touch with reality, if he didn't even notice such things. He picked up the gun and checked it.

"It's functional," he commented.

Bond quirked an eyebrow.

"The cufflinks?"

The Double-Oh agent gave him another smile as he dropped the two cufflinks into his hand. Q took them with a scowl. He gathered the equipment and put it in a silver case, then locked it. He didn't have to ask about the umbrella. That one, he clearly remembered, Bond had used and lost. It had been like a Swiss Army knife. Multi-functional with several nifty additions, but now it was at the bottom of the sea.

Too bad.

"Q."

He blinked.

"You are spacing out."

"I hardly think so."

Bond's expression begged to differ and Q glanced at the digital clock at the bottom of his computer screen. Several minutes had apparently passed and he hadn't noticed that.

Damnit!

"Go home. You need rest."

"You are not my boss, 007!" he hissed.

The other man was suddenly very close. "No. I'm your anchor," he said, voice dropping low again. It was almost a rough whisper and it touched something inside Q that listened up. "I'm your firewall," Bond went on. "I protect you. You balance me. I need you, Q."

He blinked, stunned by the open words.

Here.

Right in the middle of Q branch.

"I…"

"You will go home," Bond said softly, that gritty feel back in his voice. "I will drag you out of here by force if you won't go."

The way he was leaning close, almost looming, coupled with the powerful presence and Q's renewed headache, had the quartermaster close his eyes.

"Bond."

"Let me help."

"I'm not done here."

"You are. Let me help."

The pain was still there, the headache pounding away. And Q finally folded like a house of cards.

He hated himself for it. He hated Bond for influencing him.

But when he looked into those blue eyes there was no triumph, only…

He refused to put it into words.

When James touched him, the pain lessened as the technopath clung to the anchor line without realizing it. The physical contact broke through the walls, let the anchor work, and Q pressed his lips together. There was so much more to their connection than a simple link that had them both healed and healthy, ready to take on the world.

That was the stuff fiction was made of.

Both men were still fighting with their abilities. Bond was actually battling his own nature day by day. The anchor gave Q more security, but it didn't make him a technopathic wizard. He was learning every day and backlashes happened.

Like right now.

If not for the anchor, he would probably be a gibbering nut case in the psych ward. And because he was fighting his dependency every step of the way, the headache rose and fell with it.

Damn, damn, damn!

"It's not a weakness," Bond rumbled as he gently pushed him toward the exit.

But it was! It was a weakness! It wasn't him! Q had always been able to rely on himself, and he had fought his own battles. He didn't need to be babied!

They stopped and Q blinked as he looked into the preternatural's eyes. "Stop fighting me," Bond said.

He blinked again.

The blue was to drown in. It was the most fascinating color. Pale. Hard. The darker ring around the iris. There were so many emotions in those eyes, even though they mostly looked at the world with cold detachment.

The eyes of a killer, of a ruthless creature that took lives on command, that had no conscience. But Q had seen the different side of James Bond, the one who cared, who worried, who… who was his partner and so much more. The intensity in those eyes was now focused on him, the glacier burning with an inner fire that stemmed from the phoenix and the phoenix alone. The preternatural was a dominant, soulless alpha that took what it wanted – but it had never demanded anything more than Q could and would give.

Because… they were more than friends with benefits. A lot more.

The fight went out of his body and Q closed his eyes, suddenly so very, very tired. He was aching to get home.

Bond touched him gently, a hand on his back, heavy and warm. No pressure, just the presence. A reassurance.

And Q went.

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The employees of Q branch watched the whole exchange, the almost-man-handling of their boss, and the disappearance of the most dangerous Double-Oh with silent awe.

No one had dared to interfere. No one had dared to breathe too loudly.

Rumors would most likely fly, but there was a general confusion as to what those two were to each other. James Bond wasn't known as a man who did relationships. Q was… a rather unknown factor to the employees of Q branch. He was Bond's handler, of course. Another surprise that had launched a series of bets how long this would last. That it had lasted this long already had stunned a lot of them.

Now this.

And no one had a clear idea what it meant, only that they should stay out of the agent's way and not let him catch them gossiping about whatever 'this' was.

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He had no idea how they got home.

Actually, he had a complete blackout. Q couldn't remember when he had last missed several hours while not engrossed in a project.

Answer: just before he had nearly fallen into the screaming abyss of insanity.

He had been sixteen then, close to just ending it. It had been hell. It had been the worst time of his life. Puberty was one thing; getting lost in the technopathic equivalent of Hell was… nothing that could be compared to any of the mundane teenage problems anywhere.

The ride from MI6 to his flat had been spent in a zone. He had registered the traffic cameras, the countless cell phones all around him, the tablet computers, the laptops, everything. He had clung to the anchor and there had been the grounding touch of his partner. Bond had had one hand on his knee almost the whole time. Not possessive. Just reassuring and giving Q something to focus on.

No, he hadn't really been there, present and accounted for, the whole ride.

Damn!

And the elevator ride to the flat had been… well, if anyone had asked him, he would have asked back: what elevator ride?

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Q thankfully took the mug of hot tea and curled his fingers around it. He felt terrible. His head was pounding, his shoulders were tightly knotted, his stomach was a cold pit, and he was freezing.

All of him hurt. Deeply. His very mind and soul felt raw, like someone had raked claws over it. He was vulnerable and open and, much to his again rising distress, almost fragile.

Q wasn't fragile!

He gritted his teeth, anger flushing through him.

He wasn't weak!

His abrupt decline from 'headachy' to 'crashing like a plane on fire' had started when he had finally let go inside the familiar flat, when the tension had seeped out of his body, when Bond had been so close that the technopath had relied on his partner to get him home. He had made it to the couch and just sat there.

He was at the end of his rope, emotionally as well as mentally.

Bond poured himself a scotch, watching the technopath silently. His eyes were like ice cubes, pale and light blue, and his face unreadable. His presence was just as cool and composed and part of Q relished the cooler nature; another hated the dependency.

Q hated to be so weak in his preternatural abilities. His technopathy was powerful, but his execution of it was flimsy at best when it came to the strong stuff.

The virus had been so alluring, so fascinating, so interwoven. Only a computer programmer could appreciate the finer nuances of what Silva had created, and looking at it from inside the interface…

Q closed his eyes.

The headache was going to kill him. The more he fought it, the more vicious it became. If he gave up, it lessened. If he would let James be there, it would be gone.

But he was too angry at himself, his stupid failure. He was too agitated in his mind that he had once again messed up. It all interfered with the function of the anchor.

Sometimes he wished there was a handbook on his abilities, on what it meant to be a technopath. Like the phoenix, he was an unknown. All other known technopaths of his caliber had given up on themselves and he understood how that could happen. Q had survived everything. Even without the stabilizing influence of an anchor. It had been pure iron will and determination not to fail. And all that boiled down to the fact that he was too stubborn for his own good to accept that sometimes that determination needed to be replaced by acceptance.

Accept Bond.

Let him help.

He had felt it when the other man had touched him. It had been such a relief, such a pleasure that was far from sexual, and he wanted that again. It meant confessing to his need and Q hated, hated, hated being needy.

When Bond projected that need it was different. He was a powerful preternatural even without Q.

He groaned and gulped as another wave of vertigo washed through him.

The mug was taken from his trembling fingers.

"Q."

He stared blankly for a moment trying to remember which way he wanted to go, faintly puzzled.

"Q?"

The voice was cool, smooth, cutting into his confused mind like a hot knife through butter. It surrounded his brain, seemed to shield him, seemed to cool him down where he had been running hot.

The touch on his face was back. It chased away the pain like magic and he closed his eyes.

He didn't fight it. He couldn't.

"Let go," Bond murmured.

He tried to resist, but he no longer had the strength.

"Let go," James repeated, pulling him into an embrace.

They were horizontal, on the bed, and everything was blurring. Q felt like he hadn't slept properly for at least thirty-six hours, if not more. The world was slip-sliding away from him with every thought.

But the headache was gone.

Because Bond was here. Because of the anchor. Because Q was no longer resisting, fighting…

Strong fingers carded into his hair, ran over his tense neck, his shoulder, down his back. James' mouth was at his ear, whispering words he couldn't make out completely.

Q's thoughts were growing heavier, sluggish.

He finally let go.

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Bond looked at his sleeping quartermaster. A soft smile played around his lips as he combed the unruly hair. He placed a little kiss on his head.

"Why do you never listen, Q?" he murmured.

Because he was just as stubborn, obstinate and aggravating as Bond could be. He was independent, relied on his own abilities, didn't want to burden anyone else…

Two of a kind, he mused. Two of a kind.

But they both now had a partner who completed them, who gave them what they were lacking, and if a Double-Oh by the name of James Bond had come to accept it, so could MI6's young quartermaster.

"Have to work on that, Q," he said softly.


	4. Chapter 4

Firewall.

Bond had called himself his firewall.

Q knew it was an apt description, one he might have come up with, but it had been James. He was so much more than an anchor, and even that was more than Q had ever hoped of having in the past.

His protection.

Part of Q balked at the word. He didn't need protecting. He wasn't a child or defenseless. He had lived all his life with the horror of getting lost inside the web, of the insanity that awaited him there. He had persevered. He had survived.

He had found his anchor. He had James Bond, another part reminded him. This was what he had always wanted, what those few technopaths who were moderately in possession of their faculties dreamed of. He had achieved what neither of the others had.

He didn't even know them.

It didn't make him less, really. It made him… more effective, if Q let it happen, that was. Right now he was still fighting it, despite the logical side of his mind telling him that it was what he needed.

_What if Bond decides it isn't worth the effort?_ a nasty little voice whispered. He was independent, strong even without Q, and Q was…

An arm slid over his waist, pulled him close to the hard body behind him. Lips brushed over the nape of his neck, with teeth biting lightly. The contact derailed the abrasive thoughts.

"Give it a rest, Q," Bond murmured.

He turned his head and tried to catch a glimpse of the other man's face, but Bond had buried himself against Q's back.

The arm tightened a little.

"This is what we are," the agent murmured, voice muffled. "What we need of each other."

Q blinked, caught. He was pretty sure Bond's preternatural side didn't include telepathy, but maybe it was just his training. The way he could read people. The way he knew Q.

What they needed of each other.

He needed the anchor, the firewall. The phoenix needed all of Q, sometimes in a very all-encompassing way that would have devoured weaker men. He had never submitted to the powerful creature and Bond had never hurt him. Their relationship was complicated and nothing in his past compared to it. Q hadn't gone into this as a virgin. Just because he had never been a jock didn't mean he had never had sex. Or a relationship. It simply meant he had never been with a man like James Bond.

He wasn't weak. Had never been weak.

Needing Bond was… normal, part of him whispered. It sounded a whole lot like James.

Rough lips nipped at his neck and Q shivered a little. His eyes closed involuntarily when Bond bit him lightly.

"I apologize," Q whispered.

"What for?"

He shrugged ever-so slightly. "This. The whole… breakdown. It shouldn't have happened. I knew the dangers. I ran into the whole mess with my eyes closed."

James pulled him closer, resting his chin on Q's shoulder. A day-old stubble scratched lightly against Q's neck.

"I'm your anchor, Q."

Yes. He was. All of him. Q needed this man and he needed the cold, calculating darkness. It was the complete opposite of what he was.

"I guess you didn't bet on it being like that," he muttered.

It got him a soft huff of a laugh. "I had no idea what to expect. I only knew it felt good. Right."

Q closed his eyes. Yes. It felt good. Bond had simply accepted the fact and gone on. Pragmatic as he was, stoic and taking it all in a stride. A field agent, Q mused.

Bond's hands stroked lightly over his stomach. "You're not a burden."

Damnit! He had to be telepathic somehow!

"I'm much more demanding than you have been, Q. All I do is… be there. You on the other hand…"

Q snorted. "I'm there as well."

"To work off the energy."

"Hm, in a good way."

Bond nuzzled against his neck again. "I believe I'm still a lot more maintenance than you would ever be to me. If you would let me help."

Q was silent.

"Trust me," the agent murmured.

"I do." And he did. No reservations, no hesitation.

"Then let me be there."

He opened his eyes, staring into the dimly lit room. The blinds were open and while it was night, the lights from outside gave him shapes and outlines.

"You are always there, James," Q said softly.

"But you fight me."

"I'm not… I can do this. It's my ability."

"One that was crippled up until a few months ago. You are healing, Q. Taking on Silva's virus program on your own was a bad idea."

"I wasn't even planning to! I was side-tracked."

"Even worse."

He fell silent, aware that the rebuke was earned. He had been careless, flighty, acting on impulse. It could have sent him right back into that abyss from his teenage years.

"Tell me," Bond broke the silence.

"Tell you?"

"What do you see? What made the virus so interesting?"

Q was slightly baffled. "It's… beautiful," he finally rallied to put into words what only he could see inside the web. "All intricate patterns and code. It's breathtaking and unique and… and something I thought I'd never be able to touch," he added softly.

Gentle fingers caressed his temple.

"You can," Bond said in that low, rough voice. "Now."

And he still had to learn. How to be a technopath, how to rely on a man who shouldn't have been such a perfect fit. Q had thrown himself head first into being there for the phoenix, but he hadn't been so accepting in his own short-comings.

"It's like a siren's call," he murmured. "You look at it and it's bright lights and wonderful code and everything… I want to be there, inside, look at it, understand it from this unique perspective."

"You're new to this, Q."

"I shouldn't be!"

Another caress. It silenced the anger and Bond nuzzled his neck. "But you are. My preternatural side is instinctive. I don't control it. I just rise from the dead whether I want to or not. Yours is complicated, controlled by yourself. You switch it on or off. You have to reach out for me, Q. You need to train it. I just need to come back alive."

Q was silent again. He knew those words were utterly true. Bond had simply needed a reason not to fall into the void. Q had to start from the beginning and work from there.

"We are in this together, quartermaster," his agent added. "This doesn't make us less. I'm still here because of you, so please let me return the favor now and then. Stop fighting the anchor and let me help."

That had him turn. The other man let him, his embrace loosening, and Q looked into the well-known face currently bathed in shadows.

"I'm not fighting it," he said softly.

"You are. Trust me, Q."

"I trust you with my soul, 007."

Broad hands touched his face, caressed his pale skin. "Then trust me with your mind, too. Don't do this alone."

Q could only nod, mesmerized by the words.

Trust him with his mind. Yes, he already did. He simply had to beat it into his own head that showing need wasn't a weakness. The phoenix's needs were different than the technopath's, but they both had to ask in their own way. Q had never said no. Bond wouldn't either.

His touch alone had chased away the headache.

_Q, old boy, that should tell you something._

He sighed silently, feeling like a stubborn child.

James kissed him, pushing him back into the pillows. It was a slow, gentle, loving kiss. Reassuring and filled with sensual warmth.

Q poured everything in this kiss, everything he felt, he wanted, he needed and wished for. Bond framed his head with his hands and nipped, licked and gently bit at his mouth, lips and surrounding skin.

"Please," Q whispered, breath hitching a little when that hard, muscular body settled over him. "Please."

Because he needed… wanted… this. All of this. The phoenix wasn't alone in its hunger and desire. They might need each other in different ways, but he couldn't agree more on how they expressed it.

Bond didn't say a word, but he didn't stop either.

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Coming back into work Q ignored the surreptitious looks from his team and simply did his job. The beta test had been completed by the IT crew and he went over the details with a fine-toothed comb once more.

Nothing was amiss.

He gave them a green light to implement the program.

He isolated the virus and put it under heavy lock and key. The laptop would stay offline, away from anything even remotely connected to the new servers, and if he truly did attempt to examine it, he would ask for Bond to be there.

It was their deal. No solo adventures of the technopathic kind. Q had vowed he wouldn't do it, wouldn't even go near the tempting codes, and he would stick to it.

He wasn't stupid. Or reckless. It had been an accident and he understood that accidents happened, even to seasoned hackers like him.

He smiled a little.

Bond walked into Q branch around noon. He moved with the sure gait of a big cat on the prowl, examining his territory, assessing the possible threats.

Q looked up, meeting the smile with a neutral expression. "007. You are late."

Tanner had sent him a brief message detailing the new assignment. It was a joined venture, a cooperation of the Norwegian and Finnish police and MI6. Find a missing British diplomat who had gone under with a whole lot of sensitive information and was currently somewhere in the dark, cold expanse of northern Scandinavia.

Bond just perched himself on the table, looking smug and unrepentant.

Q rolled his eyes. "Follow me."

He led his agent down a tunnel and into one of the equipment rooms. One of his men had already prepared the package and Q simply detailed what Bond was outfitted with.

Cold weather gear. Specially designed to be light-weight and still protect the agent against the freezing cold. Night vision goggles that looked more like fancy sun-glasses. Arctic survival kit. His gun, now with the added bonus that it wouldn't fall victim to freezing should it be dropped in water.

"Try not to lose it in a lake, 007."

"The operational word is 'try'." Bond checked it, smiling a little when the dermal sensors reacted to his palm print.

Q handed him his passport and tickets. Bond slipped them into his suit jacket's inner pocket.

"Good luck, 007."

Bond winked and slipped the plug Q had designed for him into his right ear.

Q refused to react to the playfulness, but it was hard to not smile, ever so slightly.

"Stay out of trouble," his agent said.

He huffed. "You are one to talk."

The agent just smirked a little more and gathered the equipment. He walked out of Q branch with his usual self-assured air.

Q returned to his work station and if his laptop screen showed the tiny dot that was James Bond moving through the maze of London's streets, heading for Heathrow International, it had everything to do with his responsibilities as the man's handler.

::Have a good flight, 007:: he sent technopathically before Bond boarded.

"Oh, I will," Bond answered as he sat down and buckled in.

Business class to Oslo, then on to Kirkenes.

"Talk to you when I'm on the ground," he said.

Q acknowledged. He left the window open.

Just in case.

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fin for this one. Writing the next already!


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